


Dean Winchester's Five-Step Program for Keeping Hot Hookups

by queen_of_hells_bells



Series: So I got bored... [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Based on a song, Fluff, LITERALLY, M/M, That's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:21:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_hells_bells/pseuds/queen_of_hells_bells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is pretty much exactly what the title says: five rules for keeping your hot hookup around.</p><p>Based on 'You Look Good in My Shirt' by Keith Urban, because it kept playing on the radio today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester's Five-Step Program for Keeping Hot Hookups

Rule one: pancakes.

They’re the perfect food to feed your random hookup who also happens to be your ex. Your ex that you still really like, and want to have stay around a little bit longer. Especially when you _already_ know that they _really_ like your chocolate chip pancakes with a dash of powdered sugar, a pat of butter, and just a splash of cinnamon-infused maple syrup.

So yeah, Dean was up and making Cas his special pancakes, the same ones he’d made the day he’d--well, there was no sense in going down that road right now, was there? He smiled to himself at the thought that Cas, _his_ Cas, was back in _his_ house, in _his_ bed, unknowingly awaiting his favorite breakfast in bed.

Would it be too much? To remind Cas of that day, so early in their--no, this was not a relationship, whatever Dean wanted. It was just a lonely Cas and a booty call. That was all Dean was. Whatever. He’d already made the pancakes, he’d just have to hope that Cas didn’t remember.

As he moved to pull the cinnamon stick out of the syrup, Dean heard the unmistakable sound of Cas coming down the stairs. The guy had never learned which steps creaked and where to step to avoid the loudest squeaks. Dean smiled: he’d missed that.

Rule two: playing dumb works.

He had his back purposefully turned when Cas entered the kitchen so that he wouldn’t see the food, but was surprised before he could say hello by a pair of large, soft hands covering his eyes, and a deep voice rumbling in his ear. “Guess who.”

After a moment’s pause, Dean responded, trying to keep the smile out of his voice. “Aaron.” The body behind him stiffened a little, and Dean couldn’t help pushing a little more. “No? Ok...Daniel? Michael? Lucas? Uh-” Suddenly, the hands pulled back, and Dean was yanked around to face Cas.

“No.” The man’s blue eyes were flaming as he sealed his lips to Dean’s, licking his way inside and claiming Dean’s mouth like he owned it. Dean sighed, letting Cas have his way; he’d missed this. Then, just as suddenly as he’d attacked, Cas pulled back, letting Dean chase his mouth for about an inch. “I’m Cas, remember?”

Dean played dumb a moment longer, letting his mouth hang open in an ‘O’ of surprise before nodding. “ _Cas_ , of course. Silly me.”

Cas rolled his eyes, leaning over Dean’s shoulder to sniff at the food on the counter. “Did you make...pancakes?” He pulled back and stared at Dean, blue eyes wide. Dean nodded anxiously. “I...thanks. I love your pancakes.”

Rule three: always steal your hook-ups clothes.

It wasn’t until Cas turned and walked away to the cabinet to get plates that Dean noticed: Cas was wearing his old green plaid shirt. _Only_ his old green plaid shirt. He was lucky that Dean had stolen it from Sam and that it was so long.

He looked amazing. He’d used to steal the shirt all the time, and having him back in it was almost too much for Dean to process; too much information at one time. It was perfect. And he never wanted it to leave his kitchen.

“Dean?” Dean started, finding Cas looking at him with concern. “Are you all right?”

“What, yeah. Of course I am.” He smirked, shrugging off the moment as he picked up the pancakes, doling them out onto the plates Cas was holding (three for Cas, four for him), and let the man carry them to the table. Bringing the syrup, Dean made his way carefully to where his breakfast awaited him.

He sank into his seat, watching Cas put just the right amount of syrup onto his pancake pile, in the exact center so that the liquid ran down all the sides equally, just like an advert. “Cas.” The man in question looked up at him, his eyes too wide, too blue for this conversation. “Cas, we need to talk.”

Rule four: three years isn’t really _that_ long.

As it turned out, the last three years since the two had spoken hadn’t changed much. Cas still ran that little bookstore over on fourth street, he still ran six miles every day (three before work and three after), he was still obsessed with burgers, still had a monster sweet tooth, and still lived in the tiny apartment above his store. Seemingly, the only difference was that his brother had moved out to marry his girlfriend.

Much was the same on Dean’s end. He was still the shop teacher at the high school, he still lived in his apartment, he still had Sunday night dinners with his Sam and Jess, he still took his niece to the museum at least once a week, still obsessively read mythology, and was still totally head-over-heels in love with Cas.

Not that he shared that last part. It was just true.

They sat at the carved oaken table for hours, just talking and laughing, laughing and talking, until the clock struck one, startling Cas out of a bout of laughter over Dean’s story about some girl called Emily and her mother.

“Oh! I should go! I have to get to the store.” Cas was scrambling up from the table before Dean could say anything, shooting up the stairs like rabid dogs were after him.

Dean was right behind him, planting himself in the doorway to watch him, trying to get up the nerve to say something. Anything. Well, anything but “please stay, I love you, don’t leave again.” Because that would be awkward. Finally, he settled on “Cas.” Cas looked up, looked down, looked up again, and sighed.

“Dean. I want to stay, I do. We need to talk more. But I really do have to go.”

“Come to dinner tomorrow night.” Cas’ head shot back up from where he’d been digging around for his belt, and Dean hurried to talk him into it. “I’m serious! Sam and Jess, they’ve missed you. Sam’s even promised not to murder you, so there’s a start.” Cas was still wavering. “Please.”

Rule five: please is a good word.

Cas crossed the room to where Dean stood, holding his pants up with one hand. He searched Dean’s face for any sign of falsehood, sighing when he apparently didn’t find any. “You really want me there.” Dean nodded. “And Sam’s _really_ not going to kill me?” Dean shook his head firmly, making a mental not to tell Sam not to kill Cas. Cas sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. I’ll meet you here. We can drive, ok?” Dean started to smile, only to be cut off by Cas kissing him again, this time softer, gentler.

He pulled away. Smiled. Then, quickly, Cas had buttoned up his pants and buckled his belt. Then he was pushing past Dean and moving down the hallway towards the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dean. I’ll be here at four, promise!” And he was gone.

Dean slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. He had missed Cas.

It wasn’t until that night that he realized Cas had taken his shirt. He hoped it get it back tomorrow.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Little bit of context: they were together for awhile until three years ago. (I think Dean proposed and Cas freaked out), but they haven't really seen each other at all since then, and then last night Cas called out of the blue and wanted to hook up. They did, obviously, and here we are.
> 
> So yes, this happened. It really did. Did you like it?  
> Please, comment, kudos (kudi? Is the act of leaving kudos called anything?)
> 
> And, as a fun fact: in 603 BC, Chinese warrior Xiong Yiliao stepped out between the armies during a battle and started juggling 9 balls. The opposing troops were so amazed that all 500 of them turned and fled.
> 
> Happy Tuesday!
> 
> P.S. find me on tumblr at queen-of-hells-bells
> 
> P.P.S. I'm thinking of making this into a verse. Thoughts?


End file.
